


For Granted

by Adverant



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: 2nd AU, AU-of-an-AU, Alternative Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Harm, Septiplier - Freeform, Soulmate AU, new perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adverant/pseuds/Adverant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They appreciated him because he lived a life of freedom and loneliness and braved it easily, and instead of feeling sorrow for not yet having a soulmate's name to wear on his wrist he used what he had to help others smile and get through life.<br/>Many of them found soulmates through his help, for their shared interest in his videos.</p><p>But the truth is, he's been lying for so long and he's grown bitter that not a single one has noticed it. At the age of twenty five, nearing twenty six, of course he had a soulmate.</p><p>He hadn't meant for this, nor did he want it. Every scar proved that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irlShiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlShiro/gifts).
  * Inspired by [your name on my wrist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895651) by [irlShiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlShiro/pseuds/irlShiro). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved Yurin's idea of this, though I did point out I would have liked a bit more explanation on the new idea. I really liked the way they wrote it, but I had this idea trapped in my head and decided to put it in a new perspective where being alone wasn't quite where the problem was at.
> 
> Not for the faint of heart <3 involves self-harm and other possibly triggering stuff, so if you think in the slightest that any of that might bother you at all, don't read it please. I'll be taking this story veeery slowly, simply because I hate fics personally that jump the gun so to speak.
> 
> Check out Yurin's story, "your name on my wrist" before you read this, it will be more well-written than this one, and also much kinder on it's characters as far as... well everything.
> 
> This is inspired by "New Perspective" by Panic! At The Disco, the warnings for this chapter are as follows; Self harm, questioning of sexuality, attack on characters by author (will never forgive myself ;w; poor Mark and Jack), depression I guess.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that... ;w; I'm sorry MarkiJack, I'm so mean to characters in my stories... well, it'll get better for them, I swear.

He hates it, that name on his wrist. He'd spent the last year hiding behind a camera- and yes, he was hiding. And he knew it was wrong, hiding himself away from the world. They couldn't see his wrist then, hiding behind the screen like a frightened child scared of the world's judgement. He'd always told them his wrist was blank, that he hadn't yet found his name. He had found a name though, and it was nothing but a branding of his shame and his sin staining his gold skin. He tried, god he tried so hard to get rid of it.

It all started so simple- a sharpie. The name's green glow sank through the black ink, and he was disappointed about it. He scratched it too, only the skin around and between the letters appeared red, the bold print was raw to the touch. Still bright though, and he felt the first sharp spikes of frustration eating at him. Cooking, boiled water splashed on his arm. Still bright. He pressed his wrist hard on the rim of a seething pot, anger seeping past his original frustration and bubbling to the surface viciously.

Those had been silly attempts, accidents mostly. Once that anger, wild fierce fury, showed itself he started finding comfort in the pain of trying to save himself from this metaphorical cage, his ball-and-chain. He bit into his wrist, the cut up flesh in his mouth muffling the screams of agony that followed such an action. The print was connected to such sensitive nerves, much too sensitive; probably more now from having attacked them before, if not entirely intentionally. He'd torn out half the flesh in his wrist, the glowing letters were strangely projected through the mangled mess of blood and torn flesh. He put a fork and a knife in boiling water, cutting and burning his wrist to the bone with the knife, pushing the fork into the laceration. He even lit his wrist on fire with a lighter that he'd found lying on the street.

His wrist was mangled, charred, scarred. His raw nerves were constantly burning from the past abuse he'd put unto it, but the pain faded eventually. He wore a cuff bracelet to hide what he did to himself and the name. He stared at the computer monitor in silence for a while, when the Skype ring tone cut off the quiet and echoed in his head in replacement to the bustling thoughts. He should answer it, he knows he should. Looking at the profile picture and name of the caller made him reluctant to answer, but never the less...

"Ey, Mark!" Sean said cheerfully, his energy and expression changing drastically when he caught sight of his friend, "Woah... Man you look like shite."

Mark raised an eyebrow at him, he did appreciate the concern of course, but needed some time to decide what would be alright to tell him. "Yeah, thanks Jackaboy. Why were you calling?"

Sean scratched the back of his neck with a nervous grin, before looking back up at his webcam. "Well, I was visiting 'Murica soon and was wonderin' if ye wann'ed to hit up a club and scout some chicks, or, y'know, s'mthin'." He mumbled towards the end, leaning back in his chair as Mark studied him carefully.

"Oh yeah? Since when do you 'hit clubs and scout chicks or s'mthin' Sean? I thought your girlfriend was just visiting you this week." He regretted saying that, after seeing the fall of his friend's face.

"Yeah, well, she got her name last night while we... yeah. 'Ts not me, man. She flew back out to Korea this mornin'." Mark felt guilty suddenly for having questioned, he was sure it was hard to admit this, even if they were close friends.

"Wow... while you were- damn, man that's," He paused to think for a moment, but gave up trying to find a word to describe exactly what that was. It wasn't her fault, your soulmate's name appeared on your wrist when you realized you loved them, you didn't get a chance to question it. If you second guessed yourself a second and thought of your soulmate and the possibility of them being your love, that cursed bold italicized print would appear on your wrist, bright hot and glowing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll take you out for drinks, and... pick up chicks, or... something." Sean grinned thankfully, before his expression went serious.

"So what about you, man? What's gotcha down?" Sean's voice rang through the headset into Mark's ears, and he rubbed at his tired eyes, a stiff sigh escaping his lips.

"Just..." He self consciously glanced at his cuffed wrist, wondering if continuing to lie to his close friend after all Sean had just so openly shared was the best option for either of them. He looked up to find Sean smiling sadly- knowingly almost, which scared Mark for a second.

"Did you find your soulmate?" He remembered that Sean had once mentioned that he didn't have a name at a panel before, and Mark wondered if Sean had gotten his since then- if Mark Edward Fischbach was scrawled on his wrist.

He nodded hesitantly, and Sean frowned slightly, "Not who you wanted is she?" His voice was softer, sympathetic. Mark regretted what he said in reply, regretted almost instinctively correcting his assumption.

Giving away too much, getting too far into the truth for comfort. "He."

Sean blinked in confusion, raising his eyebrow at Mark. "What?"

Dread seeped into Mark's nerves, he'd been wrong to think that the other had gotten his name. "My um... it's... well, a guy." He spoke nervously, tapping his heal anxiously.

Every thought in his head screamed at him for telling the truth, he didn't feel like any metaphorical weight had left his back from being honest. If anything, that weight got heavier, bearing down on him. "OH. Oh." Sean said in realization, taken aback by that sudden announcement.

"So you're um, gay, then?" He shifted slightly, glancing at his own wrist- but Mark didn't notice. His face took on a pink tint as he realized what that meant for him. He'd never really been into guys, never thought about what a male soulmate would be seen as on his own wrist. His sin was not only having a soulmate who didn't have him back, but not even considering how unfair it was not to tell them about it.

"I hadn't really... yeah, I mean, apparently." Mark shrugged, tugging the cuff on his wrist up to scratch it a bit as a sudden urge hit him to itch at the healing scars that had suddenly become irritated. He noticed Sean flinch and wondered if his scratching had caused it, pulling the cuff back down and instead clenching and relaxing his left hand.

"Is it someone I know? Are... are you two close?" Mark nodded to the first question, guiltily glancing at his wrist again.

He thought about the second question for a moment, before answering carefully. "We're close, as in we're... good friends. Except we aren't physically close- they live, he lives, far away. And... he doesn't have me back." He mumbled under his breath, "too far" before glancing up at the clueless Sean to watch his expression as he went through the possibilities.

Sean winced at the sad, suddenly cold tone his friend used. He thought for a bit on what Mark said, he had a few ideas- considering that Mark didn't have many really close friends being an introvert. Wade was the most fitting he decided, and suddenly felt very stupid for getting into Mark's business. He didn't want his friend to hide away, he wanted Mark to confide in him, and he seemed to be very willing to. If he asked about Wade, it would either make or break them at this point. He decided, no matter what would happen between them, he wanted to be there and not leave Mark on his own in this emotional pain. "Is," He took a deep breath, bracing himself mentally for the worst. "Is he... Wade?"

Mark frowned, not glancing up at first. Sean could tell he was having an internal war of whether or not he should be honest, or leave him out of it.

He wasn't sure why he nodded to Sean, he didn't know either why he told him about all he'd done to himself as he held up his cuffed wrist. Sean looked like he was going to be sick, seeing the horribly marred scar peaking from under the cuff, and Mark quickly adjusted it to hide the scars.

"You can't keep hurting yourself over this, Mark. It's wrong." Sean watching him with disgust when he chuckled bitterly at that, "This- this name on my wrist- is wrong, Sean." Mark shook his head and sighed, looking up to be met with a look of anger.

"Mark, I really am so sorry," He started. Sean had indeed realized where Mark was at in this, not only did Wade not have him back but Molly's name was bright on his skin and he flaunted it. Mark would be on his own, even if he chose someone else to be with that name forged into his soul would never change. Even so, that didn't excuse everything that Mark would have put Wade through by hurting himself- Sean would know, he was pretty sure his soulmate killed them self from the hell he'd gone through in the past year. "but how fucking selfish can ye get? Don't you know what hell you're putting Wade through? I can't believe he hasn't said anything, I would have thought Wade would have said something by now, I mean by the pain you're putting him through! Dammit, Mark."

He watched the reactions as they passed by one by one over Mark, his slightly darker skin paling as the realization hit him that he'd put someone else through his pain. He brought a hand to his mouth as horror shone in his eyes at the other realization he'd suddenly made- he'd put one of his closest friends in such a painful position, without thinking about it.

He should have know, why hadn't he known? Every time he had hurt himself, his soulmate had felt it. Every single time, every self offense, and the person he couldn't help but be in love with suffered it all.

"I'm so sorry..." He whispered under his breath, then repeated louder as he felt his throat ache and tears well up in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this like a month ago. Oops. Well, oh well, deal with feels for a while, I have other stories to work on >w> (you're lovely btw Yurin~)


	2. A Little Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two, much awaited. Some of you may know what's happening here- and I really kind of hope you do, because I think this is one of the first major original modifications to Yurin's mechanic, though yes there were other things I changed.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy~
> 
> -Vera

"Yeah, it's okay man." Sean sighed, tapping his fingers twice on the counter he was leaning on, his left elbow propped up and holding his phone with the same hand. Edgy deep amber eyes watched him through the small screen, flicking either direction every so often as if he was scared someone would walk in his room or something, but he passed it off as Mark's usual nerves lately. "I know, but I- well, we got work to do." He adjusted his right ear-bud, running his fingers behind his ear to scratch there momentarily as he listened to the hasty reply, scratching an itch he had there. He smiled reassuringly watching Mark's downcast eyes flick up to meet his again through the screen, he stood up straight and made a face at him, before running his fingers through his hair. "I promise, you know I never break promises."

"..." He listened carefully, his finger hovering over the red phone button, looking quickly at the time. He'd need to play Agar.io or something short, he wouldn't have much time to record at this point. "Yeah, I'll be there. Just be patient. I'm here, man, always." He nodded a good bye and with parting words he hung up the Skype call. He slid the phone into his pocket and approached the door to the room he used for recording, pausing before turning the handle, the key still sticking into the other knob. He walked in, taking in the natural lighting it had when everything was just off and the mattress was leaned against the window, close and locking the door before beginning to set up to record.

He stared at his computer for a while after recording, pondering the plans he had made in the past days with Mark. He should talk to Wade, Molly must be worried sick about him, hell _he_ was worried sick about him. Then, he'd have to admit what he knows about Mark, and that choice wasn't his to make. He wished he could talk to someone himself even, the last year had been hell for him too, maybe all he really wanted was to be able to talk to someone who understood and was hoping Wade would sympathize. How could he wish that on a friend, or on anyone in general? It wasn't fair, he knew that, but how could you blame him after this all just wanting someone who went through it too.

He felt like such an ass feeling so sorry for himself when Mark was feeling so horrible to do that to himself, Wade was only a casualty of it, receiving the temporary effects and none of the physical or mental aftermath. He would never have the scars, he would never cry the tears, and how could he even compare to how alone Mark felt when he had Molly beside him keeping him on his feet. Even thinking that felt selfish, too, but it was true. That Wade only had to deal with the collateral damage of the things Mark  _did_ and yet felt none of the symptoms, none of the emotional strain and pertaining none of the reminders of everything he had done to make him feel worse, the scars.

He'd told Mark to get help, and it was true that he said he would help the best he could but for now he needed someone who could help him physically, a professional to take care of his health. He'd promised Sean to see a doctor, to help take care of the scars he'd been leaving himself with for so long, so they might actually heal properly. Maybe one day, he'd tried to encourage, only to receive a humorless laugh in reply with Mark's retort of  _As if I deserve to heal after what I've done_ that he accused of being pessimistic. Not an untrue statement, though he'd never heard Mark so dark and so low before, he could only try to make him feel better through their usual banter and amusement through games and such now. _  
_

He just didn't know much of what to do, he'd never really known how to deal with people who lived the way Mark was, and he felt so horrible for not being able to do more. When it came to it, it really was just the waiting game at this point. He made a promise to go to him, when he could, to help him back onto his feet. He didn't want Mark to be alone with how he was, so he planned a flight and they made a deal that Mark would go to a doctor and get help the day before he arrived, and Sean would watch after him for a while. A waiting game, he reminded himself,  _patience_ was key and he wasn't going to lose Mark to his own ignorance.

It was going to be hard and normally the idea of being faced with a challenge like this when Mark deserved someone who was more qualified to deal with it would scare him, but he was going to do whatever it took to bring his friend back into the light.

The days were going by too slowly though, and it was so hard waiting knowing how badly he was needed in a city practically across the world from him, so different from the home he grew up in. He sat at his computer and tapped his fingers on the desk as he contemplated what he should record, obviously he'd thought Agar.io would be short enough to do a video on, but he really didn't feel like it with all that was happening.

So in a stroke of _absolute_ genius he decided to root through his phone for Twitter comments, his viewers usually really liked "Reading Your Comments", and it gave him a real sense of connection to them. So he started up recording.

After a while he had finished recording and editing the first video, he decided to take a break in between since he had a lot of time between now and when he'd need to record again. Besides, he needed to pack for L.A still and of course that meant dragging out the suitcase he hadn't used since PAX Prime, which he did. He waved his hand through the dust laden air and coughed, then after an uncomfortable pause with his hand held still in the air, he sneezed. "Jesus fockin- How does it get so dusty in this damn closet?!" He shouted, frowning as he dragged the suitcase into the main room.

He walked to his room and opened each drawer, scooping out everything and throwing all his clothes in a disorganized pile on his bed, hm-ing and hum-ing as he dug through it all looking for what he wanted to bring with him for the time he was going there- he'd made a mental note to bring a week and a half of clean clothes. This being so that even if he didn't do laundry every Saturday like he usually did, he'd have clothes still for about another half a week. He also packed three different sweaters- his blue one, his red one, and his lighter neon orange one.

He paused, tapping his foot on the floor with his clothes divided into two equally messy piles on his bed, quickly putting his arms around the pile of what he wanted to pack and running to the main room, as if the faster he moved the less likely it was he'd drop anything. Needless to say, he probably dropped more than he would have, and he jogged back down the short hall picking up the scattered shirts, socks, and other assorted clothing off the floor.

He piled it all up by his couch and repeated his previous actions, leaving yet again a storm in his hall and having to run back to pick up missed pieces of clothing. He heaved a deep breath when he finally flopped down on the couch, foot nudging the pile of clothes in the process, and he sent a long sideways glance at it all. Steeling himself, he began pulling out only shirts and tossing them right beside him in arms reach, when he finally had pulled out all the shirts he began folding them one by one. When he was done folding everything, he had his clothes organized by being put in stacks of three, all over his floor.

He let out a long sigh, and began placing all his socks and such into the suitcase first, putting the folded shorts and pants neatly over top of them. He placed the last sweater in finally, and closed his suitcase, having to sit on it to pull the zipper round. He got up and walked back to his room, repeating the action of folding clothes to the pile he'd left on his bed. He finally pushed the last drawer closed and looked at the clock, he still had a bit of time but figured he may as well start recording early and play a longer game. He stepped into his recording room, closing the door tightly and turning the key.

He put on his headphones and adjusted his screen, taking his seat and browsing through games before he settled on one. He loaded it up after some impatient downloading and rainy mood playing in the background. He was about to start recording again, pressing the hotkey he'd chosen to start recording years ago when he first started.

"Whpsh! Top of th- AUGH." He stopped mid sentence, gripping his right wrist as his eyes began to water at the intense pain that popped up so suddenly. "So you're not dead, you bitch..." He hissed in fury under his breath, hot tears burning trails down his face as the pain intensified. It had stopped for so long now, for almost a month he'd been free of this unbearable agony, he'd believed the cause of this pain to have killed themselves by the sudden absence.

Yet here he was again fighting back groans and leaning his head on his desk in defeat, feeling sick and dizzy when it all began to fade. He meant that literally, feeling as if he had been sedated and was blacking out, he tried to stand up but found himself quite confused lying on the floor not far from his chair. He took a deep breath before the edges of his vision began to blur and fade into darkness. He could have sworn he heard something- a voice, singing almost.

"La da, da da, dadadadadada..." The voice was so warm, so inviting, and next thing he knew he was staring at a white-wall? What was this?

His limbs felt heavy, mostly his right arm which he tried to move only to find it being held by someone. He realized a sudden sense of being a passenger when he looked up to the woman holding his wrist involuntarily. He wanted to ask  _who are you_  or  _where am I_ but for some strange reason he felt as if his lips were glued shut, and his tongue felt- fuzzy, that's the only way he could describe it, like drinking coffee when it's too hot. That was the only comparison he could think of, but then even his mind was swimming in misshapen little circles.

"...Should have kicked in now, you might feel a little..." He only caught part of what she was mumbling, feeling his head nod very slowly, as if it was an effort to keep it up. He watched as he turned his chin up to stare at the roof without attempting such, feeling frustration suddenly seep into his mind, the only clear thing for him to grasp onto at the moment. However, he took what he could get, and with the determination that this new feeling brought him, he put all his will power into yanking his arm away from the woman who held it. He heard her say something muffled, but he couldn't focus enough to truly hear it, and before he knew it he was feeling dizzy and sick again.

"No!" He cried out, feeling his jaw gape almost lazily as he attempted to speak, but the strained voice he heard repeat his words was not his own.

Then there was floor.

He blinked, seeing his recording room floor shifting beneath him, he waited for the slight nausea to pass- it took longer than he would have liked but eventually it did pass. He sat up, holding a palm to his pulsing temple as the world swirled around him momentarily. Gathering himself, he brought himself to his feet and leaned on the nearest wall, which turned out to be near the window. He regretted the decision as the bright light burned his eyes, and he rubbed at them backing away from the window. He left the room, leaving the door to his recording room wide open, and sitting hard on the couch next to his suitcase. "What the fock was that?" He muttered lazily to himself, his jaw still feeling slack from whatever he'd just been experiencing through someone else.


End file.
